


The Juxtaposition of Switches

by kyrieanne



Series: Trains Series [5]
Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:46:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrieanne/pseuds/kyrieanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not easy to make your dreams come true, Lizzie realizes. Just like it isn't easy to avoid noticing William Darcy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Juxtaposition of Switches

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fifth installment in the 'Trains' series (THE TRUTH ABOUT TRAINS, MIDNIGHT TRAIN, THE HEARTLINE, & CABLE CARS HALFWAY TO THE STARS). Beta accolades go to iloveyouandilikeyou, without whom this story would not exist. If this gives you feelings, let me know in the comments! I want to know all your feelings!

 

***

_But one look at you and I was through_

_My heart switched up on me._

 

“Post Card from Paris,” The Band Perry

 

***

 

Lizzie can tell you all about switches. Thanks to years spent helping her father build model trains she is a verified expert on switches. A switch guides a train from one track to another. It takes you from the straight path and diverts you somewhere else. You can’t get anywhere on a train without the switch.

When Lizzie lands in San Francisco there is a car service waiting for her at baggage claim. She bites the inside of her cheek when she sees the driver holding the sign with her name. It feels like the city is greeting her personally.  
  
  
After she checks into the hotel Lizzie rides the cable cars. Back in January, she rode them when she first got to the city, but this time she isn't a tourist. This is her city now. The three suitcases she brought with her prove it. She rides the cars all afternoon. She doesn’t bother to tell anyone she is in town. She wants time to roam the streets, thread through the crowd, and let it sink into her gut. She is here and something great is going to come next. She can just feel it.

 

She wanders down to the car shed where the cable cars are worked on. She has to search, but finally she finds a guy with grease stain on his hands, and she asks what kinds of switches they use. He just blinks at her and Lizzie blushes. She bites down on her lip and repeats her question. It takes forty minutes, but finally a grizzled old man comes to the front desk and tells her, “Tongue and plane mate switches.”

 

It is the type of trivia she loves. It makes her feel like she is learning the city's secrets bit by bit. After she goes back to the hotel to change into heels and a dress, Lizzie smiles. Tongue and plane mate switches are also known as single point switches. You only need to move one wheel, make one tiny shift, to change the course a train takes. One decision that transforms everything.

 

***

 

Lizzie sails into William’s office. She drops her purse on the couch and sinks down into it, crosses her feet at the ankle.

 

William rounds the desk and hovers a few feet from her. He holds his hands up, “It was my fault. I’m the one who made Lydia keep it a secret.”

 

In the days since Lydia told Lizzie about her partnership with Pemberley, Lizzie has avoided William’s calls. She knows it is immature, but she doesn’t care. She gets a few days to stew and he deserves a few days of anxiety. She sent him a pert text letting him know they would talk when she got to San Francisco. And here she is. They have a script reading with the Domino team and new cast in twenty minutes. But first, William Darcy. He is her partner in this. Her and him. Before she can walk into that meeting her and him need to be okay.

 

Now he stands in front of her hesitant and anxious. Lizzie falters. She had expected an apology, but not for him to take sole responsibility. Though it shouldn’t surprise her. She knows William Darcy at this point.

 

“Lydia said  _she_  was the one who didn’t want to tell me.”

 

“No, it was me.”

 

“Stop covering for her,” she sighs, “even if you mean well.”

 

William tries again. He sits on the edge of the couch, “I don’t really remember whose idea it was to keep it from you, but I certainly agreed to it. I even insisted on it at a certain point.”

 

Lizzie closes her eyes and swallows. This is the part that hurts. “Why go behind my back?”

 

When she opens her eyes he is looking straight at her. “Because I believe in this idea and I wanted to see it happen,” he says.

 

Somewhere in the back of her head, Lizzie notes the way he never takes his eyes off her and how this disarms her. She opens her mouth, but the words aren't there. Her stomach turns over. She stares back and a pressure builds in her chest. It's the first time they've been alone since that weekend on the coast and that feels ages ago. So much has happened since then. She is different. They are different. There is a heat in her chest and her eyes drop to the distance between their knees.  
  
  
"Lizzie, I'm sorry." He looks so desperate when he says it as if her good opinion is everything to him. And that snaps her out of it. William Darcy wants to be friends.  _Just friends_ , she reminds herself.  
  
  
She licks her lips, "You don’t get to do things with her and keep it from me. Not if we’re going to be friends.”

 

"You're right," he says quicky. "When she pitched the idea it felt personal. It still feels personal. Like it will somehow mitigate all the terrible things George Wickham has done. Somehow this whole mess will yield something good.”

 

Lizzie wrings her hands, "She was just starting to steady out and then two days ago she packed up and headed off for San Francisco.  _I_ was left to explain to our parents.” she closes her eyes, “And my dad looked at me and asked if this was something she could do. I had to handle their questions and anxiety, not her because Lydia moves like a whirlwind. She gets these whims, but eventually she moves on.”

  
William scoots closer on the couch, “I'm sorry she didn’t explain to your parents properly. I’m sorry you were left to pick up the pieces. That wasn’t fair to you.”

“And what does it say about me if Lydia is better at doing what I’ve spent years working toward?”

 

“Lizzie, you and Lydia are different people who will do different things," he moves to touch her arm, but drops his hand a few inches away from hers. “But I understand what its like to be jealous of siblings. I also know how it feels to be the one who has to be reasonable. Tempered.” He looks down when he says it.

 

The fact that he picks up on that thread surprises her. Charlotte and Jane and even Fitz, when Lizzie called him to seethe, all of them commiserated on Lydia, but William got it. He got that it isn’t Lydia. Or it isn’t all Lydia. It is that Lizzie is tired of being the responsible one. She is ashamed of her jealousy. She only wants Lydia to be happy and she doesn’t know what to do with her doubt. It doesn’t seem to get her anywhere so she defaults to being the logical one. And of course William Darcy would recognize that feeling. He’d spent his whole life with that feeling.

 

She rests her hand on top of his. His skin is warm and smooth. “I’m not done being mad at you,” she says.

 

He nods solemnly, “I think you have every right to be mad.”

  
“And when Gigi does something you don’t like and you come to me to complain don't expect any sympathy.”

 

He turns his palm up and laces his fingers through hers. “You can say  _I told you so_. You can lecture and tease and I will have to listen to your advice. You’ll be totally right,” he says.  
  
She bites down on her lip from the weight of his hand in hers.“I missed you at my graduation,” she confesses.

 

“Lizzie, I’m -,”

 

“Sorry?”

 

“Yes. That is the general theme," he sighs, "I was meeting with the board to pitch this venture with Lydia.”

 

“It’s a good idea,” she whispers.

 

“But it doesn’t take away from the fact that I should have been there. I wanted to be there,” he scoots closer. Their knees brush.

 

Lizzie retracts her hand. This all feels too intimate. Too close for comfort. She’s never had a guy as a close friend, certainly never one who once confessed to be in love with her. Not one who turns her stomach over. Who a serious part of her still loves. She doesn’t know how to do this and it scares her.

 

If William notices her pull away he doesn’t indicate it. “I wanted to be there,” he repeats.

 

“Thank you for your gift. It meant a lot.”

 

“You’re welcome. I wanted to give you something that wasn’t just about work.”

 

Her heart squeezes. “It was perfect. I’ve been using the journal.”

 

“Really?”

 

There is an opening there for her to tell him about the things she’s written on those pages - things that center in San Francisco, but she chooses not to. She doesn’t know how to navigate their friendship, but she knows that she can’t tell him everything. She needs to keep a little bit to herself.

 

“Yes,” she smiles, but doesn’t meet his eye. She forces her voice to equalize, “Now let’s go kick some ass in this meeting.”

 

***

 

In true Lizzie fashion she is arguing when she meets Crispin Somerfeld.  
  
  
She is arguing with William about something - the cross-stratification of Youtube - when Reynolds taps her on the shoulder.

 

“Lizzie, I thought you’d like to meet Knightley,” the older woman says.

 

“Who?”

 

“Crispin Somerfeld. You cast him as George Knightley.”

 

And then he is there, broad shoulders and a double dimple on his left cheek. She does recognize him just like she recognizes the way her inner school girl swoons a little in the pit of her stomach.

 

“You’re tall,” she stammers when he extends his hand, “Taller than I thought you would be.”

 

He leans a little, “And you’re younger than I expected.”

 

“Does that matter?”

 

He shrugs, “Not if your direction is as brilliant as your scripts.”

 

“I’m William Darcy,” William extends his hand over Lizzie’s shoulder and she is grateful for the moment to compose herself.  
  
She picked Crispin Somerfeld. She was well aware of his deep brown eyes and auburn hair, just like she was aware of his smug tone. It was that haughty tone in his delivery of her lines that caused her to cast him. He is equal mix know-it-all and leading man. He  _was_ George Knightley.  
  
Across the room someone calls her name and Lizzie steps back. She can hear Crispin talking to William. He is telling him how amazing his company is, and she recognizes the tightly drawn look on William’s face. It is his patient indifference. It reads as robotic though Lizzie doesn’t think Crispin notices. He is still talking. Lizzie bites her lip.  
  
Yeah, she’s not going to rescue William this time. Let him find his own way out of this. It feels like a tiny victory after the how she reacted to him in his office. She had been viscerally aware of him in a way that was distracting and confusing. It's as if even though she realized she was in love with William Darcy it didn't really hit her until now. That knowing him as she did and being near him heightened everything in her. It was confusing. So the amusement she gets now from his awkwardness feels like a victory. She winks at him and turns her back in the direction her name was called,but there is a hand on her shoulder.

 

It belongs to Crispin Somerheld. “It was nice to meet you Lizzie Bennet.” he smiles.

 

***

 

Darcy watches Lizzie slip into the crowd. It barely registers that Crispin Somerfeld is still talking to him.

 

“So what made you want to get into the entertainment industry?” the man asks.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“This project. I didn’t know online web series were a thing.”

 

_Why is he still talking to this man?_ The only reason why Darcy even extended his hand was because Lizzie had turned beet red when Reynolds introduced Crispin Somerfeld to them. It was unconscious, but she turned her back to him and for a wild moment Darcy had been jealous.

 

William Darcy does not get jealous. It just isn’t in his disposition. If a woman is uninterested in him, he does not take it personally. He moves on. And someone like Crispin Somerheld -  _what kind of name is Crispin? He sounds like a comic book character…_  - is so not worth being threatened by. He is an  _actor_.

 

“Excuse me,” William smooths his tie, “I need to be somewhere else.”

 

He does not bother coming up with an explanation because William Darcy does not get jealous.

 

 

***

 

 

The idea to adapt  _Emma_  into a vlog had been Lizzie’s. Inspired by her own video diaries, she pitched it to William and the team. And after hours of breaking down plot, estimating budgets, and writing a few demo scripts she convinced them. To make the pitch to the board easier, Lizzie recruited Charlotte to help create a demo of the first episode. She discovered then how bad of an actress she really is when not imitating real people. But the demo had been enough and before Lizzie knew it they were casting.

 

She had been so busy with her thesis that she hadn’t been able to come up for the casting. Pemberley’s in-house producer sent Lizzie rounds of audition tapes until finally they settled on an Emma Woodhouse. She was an actress named Kate and she was adorable, blond with big blue eyes. Lizzie liked the mix of impetuousness and intelligence in her delivery. And after that the cast filled out quickly. Lizzie printed out their head shots and taped them to her closet door when she was writing scripts. But George Knightly remained uncast until the week before Lizzie’s graduation and her upcoming trip to San Francisco to oversee shooting. No one they sent her was good enough for Lizzie.

 

_“Lizzie, we need a Knightley,” William called her at the end of a workday._

 

_“Maybe its just the name George,” Lizzie tucked the phone under her chin and dug a yogurt out of the fridge. “Maybe its just cursed for you and me.”_

 

_“I don’t think that is true.”_

 

_She sighed, “Fine. Stacy sent me a bunch of tapes today. I haven’t looked at them, but I will try to find someone I approve of.”_

 

_“You’re not looking for a knight in shining armor type. That’s Frank Churchill in this story.” William reminded her, “you’re looking for Emma Woodhouse’s closest friend.”_

 

_And it was the second tape in the bunch. When he turned his head in profile Lizzie couldn’t help herself. She actually put her hand to her throat. The actor delivered the lines she’d written and she felt something in her stomach, a twisting swoon when he looked at the camera. She dug through Stacy’s email and found the guy’s name, Crispin Somerfeld._

 

_William was wrong. They didn't need George Knightley to be Emma's best friend. They needed someone like Crispin Somerfeld._

 

***

 

“How did the script read go today?” Gigi stabs the piece of salmon her brother just cut from his plate with a fork and pops it into her mouth.

 

Lizzie smiles into her wine glass at the look of annoyance on William’s face. “Great,” she says.

 

“Lizzie did an amazing job of laying out her vision for the project,” he adds.

 

She feels the blush on her neck, but ignores it.

 

From across the table Fitz grins, “That’s my girl, Lizzie B!”

 

“Duh, Lizzie is brilliant,” Lydia leans over Lizzie’s plate and snaps up a stuffed mushroom, “where do you think I learned it from, Darface?”

 

It is on the tip of Lizzie’s tongue to reprimand her sister for calling him Darface. She should be more professional. But Lizzie chooses not too. Instead, she slaps Lydia’s hand away from stealing a second stuffed mushroom, raises he glass toward William, and smiles brightly, “Here is to taking the digital media world by storm. All of us.”

 

***

 

Later William drives Lizzie to her hotel.

 

Lydia goes home with Fitz. The sisters say goodnight on the sidewalk while the valet bring around the group’s cars. It is such a strange thing to Lizzie to use the valet. It feels like she has stepped into a differently world.  
  
  
Lydia extracts a promise from Lizzie to meet for lunch tomorrow. It will be her first day at Pemberley.

 

“Gigi is going to be my tour leader,” Lydia says.

 

“Don’t forget to make her show you the pool,” Lizzie hugs her baby sister tight.

 

“I’m excited,” Lydia whispers into Lizzie’s ear, “but totes nervous. This is like real adult work.”

 

“And you’re going to rock it,” Lizzie whispers back. “Come find me at lunch.”

 

And then she lets Lydia go. She feels William watching her with his hands stuffed into his pockets. Gigi drove herself so it is just the two of them on the ride back to her hotel. He opens the car door for her and she has to remind herself that he is just being polite. It is his way.  
  
  
Still, there is something oddly intimate about their drive to her hotel. They listen to NPR and neither feels any pressure to fill the silence. When they merge onto the highway, Lizzie steals a glance at William's hand on the manual. She can feel the hum of the engine beneath her feet and she can see the muscles in his forearm stretch to change gears. The cuff of his dress shirt rides up and Lizzie notices the dark hairs on his arm and the bit of wrist that bumps out. What is that bone called? Absently, she touches the spot on her own wrist, looks back at his, and swallows.  
  
She wonders what it would be like to run a single finger down his arm and circle that spot. To idly touch William Darcy like that.  
  
"Lizzie?"  
  
She chokes, "What?"  
  
"Are you alright?" William looks at her, "You're awfully silent."  
  
She swallows.  _This is ridiculous_ , she thinks.  _Get yourself together Bennet._  
  
"I'm good." She pastes on a smile to prove it.  
  
She forces herself to look away and toward the fading lights of the city. They reflect off the bay and Lizzie really can’t believe it. She leaped. She is here. She does not live with her parents. She is putting her degree to work. Today she directed her first meeting. Tomorrow they are going to start shooting. Two days from now she is going to meet with a potential investor for  _Three Sisters Studios_ and at the end of the week she will start looking for a place to live.  
  
And William Darcy is her friend; he isn't just a guy. He is someone who she has come to rely upon. She fists her skirt in her hands and repeats to herself over and over that what she feels around William is nothing more than simple lust. It's been a really long time since she went out on a date. Really George Wickham was the last guy she... _ugh_ she doesn't want to think about that. William is an attractive man. They have a history. It makes sense that she would fixate on that part of him. But reality is that first he is her friend. He is too important to her for her to be thinking about stroking his arm. All of the things she is getting to do - he is part of that.  
  
 _She is about to begin a new chapter of her life._  That is the important thing. She tucks that statement into a place deep inside of her.

  
“You look happy.” William says as the car idles at a stop light.

 

“What?”

 

“The look on your face. You’re happy.”

 

Lizzie smiles, “I am.”

 

“I’m glad.”

 

***

 

 

***

At the end of the week, Lizzie’s feet hurt.

 

Her head hurts and her nerves are frayed. Twice she has cried in the bathroom. Three times William has found her stealing a nap on his office couch. It is quieter than the napping pods. People can find her in the napping pods. Crispin Somerheld, with his strange endless speeches about process and actor’s method, seeks her out on every break they take.  
  
  
"He always wants to discuss some inane idea with me," Lizzie complains.

 

“You are his director,” William teases in the evenings, “Did you know he is a very serious actor?”

 

Lizzie throws fortune cookies at him from across his dining room table.  
  
  
It is a long week and everyone is looking at her for direction. Everyone waits for her to make decisions. Lizzie is bossy, but she's not used to being the boss. She's not used to the weight of pressure on her shoulders or the worry that keeps her up at night when she should be sleeping. She is exhausted. What if no one watches the adaptation? What if the first round of episodes don't generate revenue for them to justify finishing the series?  _What if...what if...what if..._  
  
  
"I'm beginning to see how you became a workaholic," Lizzie tells William mid-week.  
  
  
He smiles and pushes a tray of pastries across the conference room table, "Eat," he says, "you can't skip breakfast and make it through a day of shooting."  
  
  
"Since when was it the CEO's job to make sure his employees eat?" Lizzie picks up the cherry danish.  
  
  
"It's not. But for you I make the time."  
  
  
It's little things like that give Lizzie pause. Little statements from him that make her reconsider her vow not to apply  _what if?_  to their relationship. Those moments beg her to wonder if he really meant it when he said he just wanted to be friends. But she pushes the thoughts away because in reality she really is too busy to think about it.  
  
  
For as stressful as the week is, it also shows Lizzie that this is what she wants. She wants to be busy and full of projects like this. She wants to be at the center of them. She wants to do  _this_. Despite the insecurities it churns up and the stress and exhaustion, the week feels like a glimpse into her future. All the rest of it - her feelings about William Darcy included - can wait.  
  
 _  
***_

  
There are two things that get Lizzie through the week. The first are her stolen lunches with Lydia and Gigi. The girls are busy in their own departments and when Lizzie eats with them in the courtyard she happily listens to their rapid fire conversations. Their words fall over one another and though Lizzie can tell Gigi is more eager to be best friends than Lydia is, the two obviously are becoming close. And it isn't George Wickham that they have in common, but an energy, an enthusiasm that neither has in the other people around them. It is those lunches that remind her to laugh and keep her sane.  
  
The second thing that gets Lizzie through the week are her evenings spent working at William's dining room table. Sometimes they get home in time to catch Mrs. Trusk finishing up dinner. When she is still there she hugs Lizzie and takes requests for the next night’s menu. It is a nice, intimate constancy that Lizzie forces herself not to analyze. Each night William invites her over for dinner and when the clock strikes midnight, delivers her to her hotel. He always thanks her for the evening and asks again shyly if she would join him again tomorrow. The hours they spend together are comfortable in the way tea from Jane or a hug from Lydia is comfortable. They feel personal and significant to Lizzie.  
  
  
One night they get back and Mrs. Trusk is tapping away at an ancient looking laptop. Spread out in front of her is a marked up manuscript.

 

“What’s that?” Lizzie asks.

 

“Just something I play with when I wait this one’s food to be ready,” Mrs. Trusk arches an eyebrow toward William. He smiles and hands Lizzie a glass of white wine. Mrs. Trusk turns her papers over and Lizzie gets the point. She doesn’t want to talk about it.

 

At the end of the week the housekeeper leans an arm on the dining room table. William looks up from his laptop.

 

“Yes?” He wears a patient smile.

 

“Have you convinced her to move here yet? Join your company?” She jerks her head toward Lizzie.

 

William’s smile is tight, but sincere, “Lizzie will do what she wants when she wants. I’m sure. She knows I’d be thrilled if she moved to San Francisco.”

 

Lizzie still hasn’t told him about her plans just like she hasn’t told him about the investor meeting that went horribly. The man was a joke. He let Lizzie talk for fifty minutes before admitting that he didn’t actually have money yet, but soon. Maybe. He had some prospects. Lizzie is left with the check and a headache that won’t go away.  
  
  
Mrs. Trusk smiles smugly. "Well, Lizzie what are you waiting for?"  
  
***  
  
And then at the end of the week something happens that makes Lizzie grateful she listened to her gut. She is having her last lunch with Gigi and Lydia. They are talking about Pemberley's upcoming summer gala and Lydia is grilling Gigi on the dress code.  
  
"So is this total boring black tie or can I wear sparkles?" Lydia steals a French Fry from Lizzie's tray.  
  
  
"It's pretty swanky," Gigi crinkles her nose, "The board throws it every year and invites all these potential investors. William absolutely hates it. When our parents were alive it was a barbecue for the employees and now its this big to do. Thank god for Veronica or I don't think William would survive the night."  
  
"Who's Veronica?" Lydia glances at Lizzie.  
  
Lizzie can see the horror on Gigi's face. The younger girl waves a hand dismissively, "Just this girl or maybe woman since she is his age..."  
  
"Gigi," Lizzie says, "Who is she?"  
  
Gigi cringes, "She's this woman William always takes to these things. You know arm candy. Looks good. Schmoozes well. No one significant," she bites her lip, "Really she's not that beautiful. I mean she is, but like in a magazine sort of way. Like you wonder if her skin is air brushed. You know what I mean? And she has really big teeth, I think."  
  
  
Lizzie forces herself to keep the easy smile she wore before listening to the girls talk about dresses. She touches Gigi's arm, "It's okay. Your brother and I are just friends. It's not weird."  
  
  
But Gigi just looks like she is going to cry. Lizzie squeezes her hand, "Seriously. Not weird. Just friends."  
  
  
Lydia snorts, "Yeah, just like its not weird that Gigi and I slept with George."

***

 

  
  
***

“Why haven’t you told Darcy yet?” Charlotte groans as she drags Lizzie’s second suitcase from her car into her studio apartment.

 

Lizzie heaves her last suitcase through the door. The apartment is familiar. She stayed here when she shadowed Collins & Collins. After the crazy week she has had it is nice to come home to a familiar place.

 

“Because I don't have to tell him everything. I can have a part of my life that is mine. We're not dating,” Lizzie huffs.  _Because of girls named Veronica and my career and a thousand other things_ , Lizzie thinks. Things she just doesn't want to think about right now. She just wants to be happy with where she is. 

 

Charlotte puts a hand on her hip, “How are you going to live in San Francisco when he thinks you’re back in Longbourne? Don’t you Skype into meetings all the time?”

 

“We don’t have anything scheduled for two weeks. I’ve got eight videos to edit. I’ve got time.”

 

“And what does Lydia think?”

 

Lizzie shrugs, “She loves secrets. As long as I let her pinky swear she’s all for it.”

 

Charlotte screws up her face, “You have a weird relationship with Darcy.” Her best friend sighs and gestures around the room, “Well until you find a place welcome home.”

 

Lizzie wraps her arms around Charlotte’s waist and holds on tight. “Thank you for putting up with my neurotic self,” she sighs.

 

Charlotte pats Lizzie on the head, “Oh, I’ve been doing it for years.”

 

***  
  
"The outline for this video series on taboo topics surrounding gender is very good Lydia. The writing is clear. Concise."  
  
On the other side of his desk, Lydia rolls her eyes, "I can write a sentence."  
  
Darcy quirks an eyebrow, "I never doubted that."  
  
Lydia sits up, clears her throat, "Lizzie did edit it."  
  
"Yes, Lizzie is the writer among us," he flips through the folder, "but the ideas are yours and they are good."  
  
This garners a smile from Lydia and Darcy smiles back. He makes a mental note to make sure his assistant gets Lydia in for another meeting with him soon. According to Gigi and Lydia's supervisor the youngest Bennet is doing well. She gets overwhelmed at times, but she is learning and that is the point.  
  
"If you're willing to play host, I don't know why we can't try and make one or two demos in house," he adds, "Maybe next week? We'd need scripts and young women willing to be featured."  
  
Lydia grins, "Convincing people to do suspect things is my speciality."  
  
Months ago the corners of Darcy's mouth would have turned down at that statement, but now he simply nods and slides the outline back to her.  
"I hope you're coming to the summer gala tomorrow night," he says.   
  
He picks up his phone and turns it idly in his hands. Since Lizzie left San Francisco, Darcy has developed an unhealthy preoccupation his phone. Whenever he sees it he has the urge to call her or text her. Having her here, in the halls at Pemberley and sitting across the dinner table from him, has ruined any sort of patience he had left. Suddenly his plan to continue to make amends, to stand by her as she establishes her company, to wait until she settles somewhere (other than her parent's house) so he can commit to being near her - all these practical, careful things he wants to do to lay a foundation for them to stand a chance, suddenly all of those things seem inconsequential compared to how much he just wants to tell her how he feels.  
  
"I'll be there with bells on."  
  
It takes Darcy a moment to realize she doesn't mean actual bells.  
  
He clears his throat, "That's good. The board will be there. I'd like to take the opportunity to introduce you to them."  
  
Lydia straightens, "I'll be on my best behavior. Complete professional."  
  
"I wouldn't high five them, but you should feel free to be yourself. I trust you."   
  
This catches Lydia off guard and her smile this time is quieter, almost shy.  
  
"Thank you for that," she says, "for taking me seriously."  
  
Darcy tucks his chin. He didn't really know what to say. He has a hard enough time receiving Gigi's thanks when she expresses it. Coming from Lydia Bennet he really isn't sure what to do. "Besides," he says, "its my behavior that the board likes to judge so you have nothing to worry about."  
  
"Is that why you take Veronica?"  
  
He goes still under her question.  
  
"I see my sister has been talking," he muses, "Veronica is an old family friend. She is nice enough to be my date at formal functions. It makes small talk at engagements like the summer gala easier."  
  
"Are you taking her tomorrow?"  
  
"Yes," he turns his phone over, "I thought about seeing if your sister would allow me to fly her up here for the party. I thought she might have fun going with all of us, but she keeps telling me how busy she is with editing and her start-up. I don't want to bother her."  
  
Lydia tilts her head. She seems to be reaching a conclusion about something. Darcy wonders what it is and squirms a little under her gaze. But she doesn't say. She simply stands, smiles at him, and promises to start working on the scripts.  
  
  
***

 

“Hey, I was just about to send you the first episode!” Lizzie answers the phone.

 

She opens Charlotte’s refrigerator and pulls out the leftover Hamburger Helper from dinner last night. She sets it on the counter and flexes up onto her tiptoes to pull out a bowl. On the other end of the line, William sighs. “You know,” Lizzie laughs, “for all his pontificating I’ve got to admit Crispin Somerheld is actually damn good. Girls are going to go crazy for him as Knightly. I can just see the GIF sets now.”

 

“Can you please call Gigi," William bursts out, "and explain to her that a long distance relationship at this point is not advisable?”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“She’s told you about this  _boy_ in the graphics department at Pemberley, Peter, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Lizzie hesitates. She doesn’t want to spill secrets Gigi confided to her over their lunches with Lydia last week.

 

“Well, last night he brought her to the summer gala. As his date.”

 

“So?”

 

“She is going to leave in three weeks for Sanditon,” he blusters, “She’ll be gone the rest of the summer. It’s ridiculous to think that they could form sufficient attachments in that amount of time to justify the effort a long distance relationship requires.”

 

All Lizzie can do is laugh. She leans her hip into the counter.

 

“I don’t think this is funny,” he says.

 

“Do I even have to say it?”

 

“That this is payback for my going behind your back with Lydia?”

 

“No,” Lizzie snorts. She wrinkles her nose, “William, it was just a date. Not everyone considers things like you do. Most people take risks. They try something out and see where it takes them. It’s not unreasonable.”

 

There is a pause.

 

“I guess I am still learning to see from her point of view,” he sighs, “This is harder than I imagined.”

 

Lizzie smiles into the phone and heaps Hamburger Helper into her bowl, “You and I can learn together.”

 

“Are you coming to share that perspective? That sometimes you’ve got to see where something takes you even if you don’t know how it’ll work out?”

 

She thinks about her fledgling company and her even more confused feelings about the man on the other end of the line. “Yes," she says, "I am.”

 

***

"William, we need to talk! Fitz told me what you said about Peter. If you think you can judge every guy I date just because..."  
  
Gigi's voice carries through the apartment. She slams his front door and Darcy listens to her heels click across the wood floor. She hovers in the entrance to the kitchen.  
  
"You're wet."  
  
"I just finished a swim."  
  
"Uh oh," Gigi drops her purse onto the counter. "You're swimming again."  
  
She surveys his wet swimsuit and the hoodie he slipped on after leaving the pool. He takes out a water bottle and quirks an eyebrow at her.  
  
"And what does swimming signify?"  
  
She rolls her eyes, "It means you're stuck inside your head. When you're frustrated about a problem you swim or cycle or ski."  
  
Darcy flips the metal top to his water bottle between his fingers. He can feel his phone tucked into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. Gigi reaches forward and snaps the cap from him.  
  
She tilts her head, "And you haven't been near a pool since last summer. Since George and me. Which means you're desperate."  
  
"It's summer. I can't ski."  
  
"William."  
  
"You wanted to talk to me about something Gigi."  
  
"We'll get to me. But this is about Lizzie, isn't it?"  
  
When he doesn't answer, Gigi rounds the island and wraps her arms around his waist. She tucks her head into his shoulder and Darcy remembers the gesture. She used to do that as a gangly teenage girl. She has never suffered from his apprehension toward expression. Gigi was like their mother, effusive and beautifully willful in her emotions.   
  
"Gigi is good for you," Fitz said to him more than once, "she keeps you young."  
  
Darcy isn't sure what exactly it is about his sister except that she is his family. Without her, he wouldn't know who he is.  
  
"I love you, Gigi," he kisses the part in her hair, "I love you very much."  
  
***

It takes Lizzie a week to find an apartment she can afford. She can just barely afford it. She stares at her dwindling savings account and  _Three Sisters Studios’_ empty Youtube channel. It is depressing if she thinks too hard about it.

 

It is tempting to pick up vlogging again, but in editing the  _Emma_ videos she realizes how much she prefers to be behind the camera. Her video diaries were good. They opened her world up in amazing ways, but she wants her work to make the statement. She doesn’t want to be a personality in front of the camera. She’s not Lydia.

 

Lizzie writes these things down in the journal William gave her. When she needs to laugh she tugs out the Jayne hat and wears it around her new, empty apartment. She has dance parties and sings Taylor Swift at the top of her lungs. She can’t afford furniture so she sleeps on an air mattress she bought and watches  _Firefly_ on her lap top. She texts with William during the day and at night they talk on the phone. He calls her on his way home and while they start out talking about the  _Emma_ adaptation they always end on other things. She tells herself what they have is under control. There are parts of her life he doesn't know about like this apartment and how scared she is that she might fail. It is good for her heart to have those boundaries. Good is what Lizzie is going for right now. 

 

After three days Charlotte shows up on Lizzie’s front door with a folding table and a plant.

 

“You can’t live like this,” she says.

 

“I don’t have a choice.”

 

“Your parents would bring up your furniture if you asked them.”

 

But Lizzie doesn’t want her parents to see her apartment. You can’t really call it an apartment. It is a studio with a dripping faucet and shag carpeting. To flush her toilet, Lizzie has to pull a chain that comes out of the wall.

 

“I don’t understand,” Charlotte repeats, “William Darcy owns his own apartment building. He lives in the freaking pent house. You don’t have to live like this.”

 

But Lizzie presses her lips together. “I need to do this on my own terms. That includes this apartment.”

 

“Ugh, you really are the most stubborn, willful woman alive." She says it with the affection of a best friend.  
  
  
"That's why you love me," Lizzie puts the plant on the counter. She would offer Charlotte a seat, but she doesn't own one.  
  
  
Her bestie crosses her arms and arches an eyebrow, "I know you consider yourself pragmatic compared to Lydia and Jane, but you’re not.”

 

“I’m not?”

 

“No, because the sane thing to do would be to  _ask for help_  from your friends and family. You, Lizzie Bennet, are just as much the whirl wind as Lydia.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Yes, but at least Lydia lives in reality.”

 

“And I live where?”

 

“Besides a shitty apartment in a part of town I’m afraid to be in after dark?” Charlotte exclaims, “You live in an ideal fantasy where you do this alone and that may seem romantic, but all its going to get you is lead poisoning and premature death. I’m pretty sure that is black mold in your bathroom and I saw a guy peeing in front of your door. Urine, Lizzie!”

 

“Who is being dramatic now?”

 

Charlotte sighs and grabs her purse, “Let’s just go get you some furniture from Goodwill.”

***

Lizzie fills her third week in San Francisco emailing possible investors, brainstorming content for  _Three Sisters_ , and editing the  _Emma_ videos. She coaches Lydia through more than panic attack when her internship at Pemberley threatens to overwhelm her. She walks to the grocery store on the corner because she doesn't have a car and even if the neighborhood is run down and the traffic loud she is determined to love it. It is her's.  
  
On Sunday afternoon, she finally skypes with Jane for the first time since she came to San Francisco. She confesses everything to her sweet sister who listens patiently and at the end Lizzie elicits a promise from Jane not to tell Bing she is still in San Francisco.

 

“No.”

 

“What?”

 

“No, I’m not going to keep your secret. This is ridiculous.” Jane crosses her arms.

 

“Why not?”

 

“You might have a weird relationship with Darcy, but I am in a real relationship with Bing and I’m not going to lie to him.”

 

“What about super secret sister confidences?”

 

“About important things yes, but not this. This is stupid.”

 

Lizzie wrings her hands, “Well, can you ask him not to tell Darcy?”

 

“You mean ask him to lie to his best friend?” Jane raises an eyebrow, “No. Ask him yourself, but I’m not going to help you use your pride as a security blanket, Lizzie.”

 

“A security blanket for what?” She scoffs.

 

“For not having to deal with your feelings for William Darcy.”

 

***  
  


 

  
  
***

Lizzie is out cereal. After her call with Jane all Lizzie wanted was some cereal, but then she got that email from Colin Welch and she may have slammed her lap top shut after she read it. She may have curled up on her bed and laid there until her stomach grumbled it was so hungry. And that is when she realized she is out of cereal.  
  
And of course on her way to the grocery store, Lydia calls talking a mile a minute in a way that Lizzie just  _cannot_ handle right now.  
  
"It's so strange Lizzie," Lydia says. "Like people listen when I talk. I mean not in my internship. I'm still the new girl, but a few of my co-workers are going to stay after work tomorrow and help William and me. They like my ideas."  
  
Lizzie bites her lip, "That's so great Lydia."  
  
"Like I think this could be really great," she breathes. "Not just great for me, but like great in the save the world, change the culture sort of way. Like you."  
  
Tears press to the corners of her eyes and Lizzie bows her head. She is walking to the store because she doesn't have a car. All she can afford really is cereal and the truth is Lizzie is so sick of cereal. She is sick of sitting in her apartment sending out emails and cold calling entertainment companies. She is sick of all of it. She stands on the corner, traffic whizzing past her, and trembles.  
  
"Lizzie, are you there?"  
  
"Yeah," Lizzie wipes her tears away with the heel of her hand. "I'm really proud of you Lydia."  
  
"Thanks! Hey Mary's calling. I gotta go. Love ya sis!"  
  
And then the line goes dead and Lizzie stuffs her phone in her purse. She adjusts the strap on her shoulder and tells herself to buck up. This is what she wants and more so this is how she wants to do it. This is her choice.  
  
 _Take it one step at a time_ , she tells herself. The first step is to get cereal.  
  
  
  
***

 

She runs into Crispin Somerheld at the grocery store because of course she does. That is about how her life is going right now.

 

“Lizzie Bennet!”

 

He wears worn jeans and a white v-neck t-shirt. His hair flops in his eyes and Lizzie decides she likes it this way - not tousled with gel - but almost boyish.

 

“Oh. Hello.”

 

Half his mouth turns up, “I thought you lived in some ritzy suburb.”

 

“I do,” she stammers, “or I did. Now I live here.”

 

“Here?”

 

“My apartment is down the street.”

 

He shoves his hands in his pockets and grins.

 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She clutches her purse strap. She wonders if she can convince him to keep her secret.

 

“Cause I figured you were one of those square types like William Darcy and Fitz Williams. You know with your fancy degree, exciting new ventures, and rich friends.”

 

“They’re my friends, but I’m just starting out.”

 

“No explanation needed.”

 

Lizzie tucks her chin, “Then why are you looking at me like that?”

 

“Cause I like you a whole lot better now.”

 

***

"Bing."  
  
"Hey, Darcy. Hey, have you heard from Lizzie lately?"  
  
"Yes, we spoke this morning. She's almost done editing the first set of episodes for the adaptation."  
  
"Yeah. Listen I might be overstepping my bounds, but I thought you should know."  
  
"Know what?"  
  
"She never went back to Longbourne. Jane just found out. Lizzie is still in San Francisco."  
  
***  
  
She hears the car door first.  
  
The slam jerks her head up, but she doesn't really place where it came from and it isn't until her hand is on her doorknob until she hears the footsteps on the sidewalk.  
  
"Lizzie."  
  
She drops her grocery bag when she turns around, "William."  
  
He stands just a few feet from her. Stupidly she thinks  _He's wearing jeans_. It's is an inconsequential detail, but it is the first thing she thinks. Jeans and white v-neck shirt just like Crispin had been wearing at the grocery store. Except it looks different on William. He holds himself in a certain way, straight and proud, as if it is in the Darcy DNA. There is nothing casual about William Darcy. Nothing careless or flippant. She knew this, but it hits her in that split second. That is the connection you need to understand him. He always has a plan.   
  
And then her second thought - the obvious one - takes over,  _Bing told him_. And she hates herself in that moment. She hates herself for holding out for weeks and for not calling him as soon as she got off the computer with Jane. For going to pour herself a bowl of cereal for dinner and then checking her email and then taking that call from Lydia. The look in his eyes right now could all have been avoided if she hadn't put off things she hadn't been ready to deal with.  
  
"You knew he would tell me," William says, "Why didn't you just tell me yourself then? If you knew I was going to find out."  
  
"I know you don't believe me, but I was going to call you. Tonight. But I had a really bad day okay and..."  
  
"And what?" he shouts it. One of Lizzie's neighbors, checking their mail, looks up. She can see the muscles in William's neck tighten as he takes a deep breath. "Can we go inside and talk about this, please?"  
  
Lizzie feels her heart drop as she unlocks her apartment door. She is viscerally aware of the lack of furniture. All she has is the folding table Charlotte brought her, two metal chairs, and a twin inflatable mattress with a nest of blankets that she camps out in during the day. Her laptop sits in the middle. She puts the grocery bag on the counter. She hears William behind her. She doesn't want to see his expression as he surveys her home. Her whole neck is hot and she can feel the blush in her cheeks.   
  
"I haven't eaten dinner yet. Do you want a bowl of cereal?" She concentrates on unloading her bag.   
  
"Lizzie?"   
  
She hates how he says her name, with that question at the end, that little bit of possibility. She hates him for saying her name that way. She hates how the tears choke in the back of her throat. She busies her hands pulling out two bowls from the dish rack.  
  
"I've got Frosted Flakes and Lucky Charms," she says, "Were you allowed to eat sugary cereals as a kid? I bet your mom fed you whole grain locally sourced oatmeal. Or was it a cook? Did you have a Mrs. Trusk growing up? Did she sneak you sugary cereal?"  
  
He crosses to the entrance to her galley kitchen and leans a hand next to hers. Her stomach is pressed against the countertop and his hips are perpendicular to her body. She looks down at his hand and sees the spot on his wrist that she noticed weeks ago. She trembles and moves one hand toward his. Skims the length of his forearm and does what she thought about all those weeks ago. She touches him idly. She doesn't think about what is smart or right.  
  
She hears his inhale and Lizzie does something else. She leans sideways until her shoulder bumps the center of his chest. His free hand rests on the small of her back, palm open, and Lizzie turns her forehead into his t-shirt. His arms thread around her shoulders and Lizzie doesn't realize it, but she is crying. The tension and loneliness and fear of the past few weeks uncoil in her and she grips his shirt. William pulls her closer and they stand in her kitchen while Lizzie cries. He hasn't gotten his explanation yet, but he doesn't let go of her. He murmurs things into her hair. He holds her and lets her lean into him.  
  
"Lizzie, let me help you," he says it after a few minutes. Her tears have slowed. She pulls back far enough to wipe her nose with the back of her hand. He tugs a handkerchief from a back pocket and hands it to her.  
  
She laughs, "Of course you carry handkerchiefs."  
  
He rubs a thumb idly along her cheek and Lizzie feels the squeeze in the pit of her stomach. She doesn't know why now suddenly she feels brave. Maybe she is just ready to stop being an idiot and ignoring the question right in front of her. Maybe because she only has two bowls to her name and now idea how that is going to change. Maybe because William Darcy doesn't need an explanation to let her lean into him. 

She can scarcely breathe. Her heartbeat hammers in her ears. “You said you just wanted to be friends,” she stammers. But nothing about William Darcy is casual. Not his gestures or his words or the way he presses her up against the counter right now. "Did you really mean it?"

He looks at her lips. He is looking at her lips and then the space between them is gone and he is kissing her. His hands span the space under her rib cage and slide up. His lips are on hers and they are hurried. They are persistent and wild and everywhere. She fits into the concave of his chest and she can feel the warmth of his skin through his t-shirt. He is pressing into her or her into him. Thoughts zoom and skitter on the edges of her mind because William Darcy is fucking kissing her.

 

And she is kissing him back.

 

Somewhere in time her arms raise up to hold onto his shoulders and he wraps an arm around her waist. And then she feels her feet lift off the linoleum floor of her kitchen. He pulls her up onto the counter. They break apart and his breath is ragged.  
  
"I had a plan," he says, "A plan to make amends. I had a plan."  
  
"I wanted to do this on my own."  
  
"Lydia said as much when I called her to get your address."  
  
Lizzie tips her forehead to his, "But there is a difference between doing this on my terms and being alone."  
  
"And there is a difference between having a plan and driving yourself crazy." He breathes.  
  
"For two such smart people we sure can be idiots." She slides her fingers into his hair and tugs his mouth back to hers. She wraps an ankle around his thigh and presses the length of her body against him. She opens her mouth and deepens the kiss, sinks into it, and her body hums at the sound he makes in the back of his throat. It is something desperate and undone.  
  
 _She makes William Darcy come undone._

It is a wild thought that scares her, but William is rooted at her pulse point now and she tips her head back to give him better access. His lips dart across her collar bone and his fingers slip along the band of her jeans.

 

"I don't want to be just friends, by the way," she murmurs.

 

"Good to know." His voice is muffled against her skin. Her own hands find their way under his shirt and there is the scope of muscle. Lizzie pushes against his chest and William steps back, dazed. She looks at him. His hair is mused and his lips are swollen. She fists his t-shirt and licks her lips. She loves the idea that  _she_  is the one person in this world who makes him come undone.

 

She kisses him. Presses herself to him and he is there. It is slow between them this time. His lips are gentle over her's and he cups her face with both hands. She feels whatever tension left in her leak out. Everything beyond her kitchen doesn't matter right now. His hands are in her hair and he is kissing the underside of her jaw. Her hips jerk toward him and William makes a strangled noise as she presses up against him.   
  
"The noises you make are very illuminating," she skims her fingers idly along the band of his jeans, circles a finger along his hip bone.   
  
"Would you care for some further illumination?," he smiles against her breast, but then her fingers - indulging in the idle exploration she's fantasized about for weeks - explore lower and William Darcy isn't so witty any more.   
  
"Shit, Lizzie you're going to kill me."   
  
  
 Lizzie's mind skips ahead to logistics. There is no way in hell she is going to pull William Darcy down onto her twin inflatable mattress and while sex in the kitchen could be hot it doesn't fit what she has in mind for tonight. She is just about to suggest they relocate when a phone rings.

 

"Ignore it," William mutters. He hovers in the vee of her t-shirt. Lizzie shivers as his thumbs skim the side of her breasts. "That's just Gigi's ringtone," he says.

 

"I assume you're not having very sisterly thoughts right now," Lizzie laughs.

 

"Hardly."

 

But then her own phone goes off and Lizzie is going to ignore it, but William's is ringing again. Gigi.

 

"I'm going to have to talk to my sister about persistence. Later. Much, much later," William pulls his phone out of his pocket to silent it, but Lizzie stops him. She pulls her phone out of her purse. It is Lydia.

 

They answer at the same time, "Hello."

 

And Lizzie can see it on William's face as Lydia tells her the news just as Gigi tells him.

 

"There's been an accident. It's Fitz."

 

***

 

Lizzie can tell you all about switches. All it takes is one to nudge your entire life off track.

 

**Author's Note:**

> There is a plan. Trust me. Credit goes to Amber for the name Colin Welch and the gift Darcy gave Lizzie in the last installment.


End file.
